Chapter XII: The Surprise

"WHY," said Christie, "I suppose he wants to know where somebody lives. You go to the door, Karl."

For the man was knocking, and Christie caught up the baby just in time to get him out of the whirl of wind that came in at the open door.

"Is this Mr. Jonas Tucker's place?" the gruff voice asked.

The man was a new-comer, and did not know the country very well, though Karl felt well acquainted with him, having watched him often as he loaded his big white covered wagon—or "prairie-schooner," as the wagons for transportation are called in the "Far West."

"Yes, sir," said Karl, "but he isn't at home. He went to the city right after dinner."

"Is there a Miss Christie Tucker in the family?"

"No, sir. Miss! Why—no—yes, yes, sir, I suppose there is."

"Well, you seem to be mighty uncertain about it. When you get your mind fully made up, I wish you would tell me. Are you sure you live here yourself?"

Astonished as he was, Karl could not help laughing over this.

"Yes, sir," he said very decidedly, "I do; and so does Christie; though it seemed so funny to hear her called 'Miss,' that I thought you must mean somebody else. She is a little girl."

"Just so. Little or big, I don't know as it makes much difference to me, provided her name is Christie. I've got an express package out here for her as big as the house, most, and as heavy as all creation."

Then did Christie set the baby down hastily in the farthest corner she could find, and come to the door.

"There is some mistake, Karl," she said hurriedly; "nobody would send an express package to me."

"We don't think it can belong to us," explained Karl to the man who was turning to go down the walk. "We don't know anybody who would send packages to us."

"I haven't got anything to do with that, as I know of. It is marked Miss Christie Tucker, as plain as black paint and a good deal of it can mark it, and sent to this office. And the clerk who has been here ever since there was a place says he don't know of any other Tucker within ten miles of the town, only Jonas, and you say the little girl's name is Christie, so I guess it's all right. Anyway, if the man has made a mistake and sent his bundle to the one he doesn't want to have it, why, that's his lookout, not mine. We'll bring the thing in, and you get away from the door, for it will fill up your kitchen."

Away he tramped, whistling gaily as he went, and Christie and Karl looked at each other in great perplexity.

"It is all wrong," murmured Christie. "They will just have to come to-morrow and take it away, and maybe it will cost father something; mother will say that we ought not to have let them bring it in. Oh, Karl! They always have to pay for express packages. They mark them C. O. D. Father was telling me about that only yesterday, when I helped him hold that beam, you know."

"We shan't pay any C. O. D., or any other kind of fish," declared Karl sturdily, rising to assert his manhood. "If he leaves a thing here that we say doesn't belong to us, he will get no money for it from us, that's sure."

"That's so," said Christie, relieved and admiring. "We can't tell him not to leave it, I suppose, but we can tell him that we are not going to pay for it. In fact, we couldn't; because we haven't any money!"

By this time the great roll, whatever it was, riding on the shoulders of two stout men, had reached the door, and was thumped down on the clean kitchen floor.

"My patience!" said Christie.

The thing was so large that she could not help exclaiming over it.

"Look here," said Karl, still intent on business, "we don't at all think that that belongs to us, and we can't pay you a cent for leaving it here."

"All right," the good-natured man said, a broad smile on his face. "There isn't a cent to pay, and if I find any other Christie Tucker who wants the thing worse than you do, I'll come and take it away again for nothing at all."

And he went puffing away out of the little house and down the walk, a smile all over his great broad face.

When he was gone, the two young people stood and looked, first at the roll, and then at each other. Of course the baby crawled out of his corner, and hovered around the great bundle, and tried to push it with his little hands, and tried to bite it, and tried to lift it, and finally sat down on it in triumph, believing he had found out its use.

"What in the world can it be?" Karl asked, at last.

"And whose can it be?" added Christie, looking at the great roll with longing eyes.

"Why, it's plain enough that it is yours. Anyhow, that is your name, Christie Tucker, as large as life, and we 'know' there isn't another Christie Tucker anywhere around. The question is, where did it come from, and what is it for?"

"Uncle Daniel never would—" said Christie, slowly, thinking aloud, and leaving her sentence unfinished.

"No," said Karl, with emphasis, understanding her as well as though she had finished it, "he never would in this world. Christie Tucker, I believe in my heart it is a carpet. It is done up, for all the world, like the rolls that Nick takes up to the Burton's and other places, and he says they are carpets straight from the stores. They sew them all up in that straw kind of stuff, so they won't get dirty on the journey."

"Then of course it isn't ours, for we haven't bought any carpet at the stores, that is certain."

"No," Karl said slowly, and argumentatively; "but then see here, Christie, neither have we bought anything else, and this is something, so I don't see as that proves anything. I'd like to see the inside of it, wouldn't you? Shall we rip it open?"

"Oh, no! We mustn't; mother wouldn't think it was right. It will have to go back, of course; they have sent it to the wrong town, maybe, and father would have no end of trouble in getting it sewed up again. We must just push it into the corner and let it alone. And Karl, it is time we were getting our treat ready, or planning for it, at least. Look! It has stopped snowing, and I believe the sun is going to set clear. They will have a nice ride home."

"I can't imagine what the thing is," said Karl.

He did not mean the sun, nor yet the ride home. Eyes and thoughts were still on the great roll. He was not in the mood to give it up so quietly.

"I'll tell you what, Christie, I believe we ought to open it. This stuff is all damp on the outside, and it may be something that the damp will hurt. We ought to take care of it, whosoever it is."

"It won't hurt before mother and father come," Christie said, with the quiet tone in her voice, which Karl knew meant, "It has my name on it, and therefore I have the right to decide that it is not to be touched."

At the same time, she lifted the baby from it in haste, and examined carefully the little flannel dress, to see if it felt damp. A little woman was Christie.

Karl recognized the power in the quiet voice, and began gravely to roll the bundle into the corner.

It took every bit of strength there was in his stout young body. And before he had made much progress, an exclamation from Christie stopped him.

"Karl, there comes another wagon! It has stopped before the gate, and a man is coming up to the door; and it is loaded with all sorts of stuff!"

You see how these two people muddled the English language when they were excited. Of course Christie did not mean the door was loaded, but the wagon. Karl left his roll, and came to attend to this new and startling development.

"That is the railway freight wagon," he chuckled, "and that is Jim Pierce driving. I know him, anyhow, and he knows me."

"Halloo!" said Jim Pierce, as the door swung back almost before he had a chance to knock. "Here you are, eh? Well, is there a Christie Tucker tucked in here anywhere, that's the question. Miss Christie Tucker; can you find her?"

"Yes," said Karl, laughing merrily; this whole affair was growing very funny to him. "I've got her here safe; what do you want of her?"

"Why, I'm getting her ready to set up housekeeping. There's a bedstead, and bureau, and chairs, and a sofy, and don't know what all, out in my wagon; as cunning a little set-out as ever you see, all belonging to Miss Christie Tucker. You aren't getting ready for a wedding nor nothing are you, Karl?"

Whereupon Karl laughed again, loud and long.

But Christie did not laugh; her face was pale. At once her thoughts reverted to the nice old gentleman whose acquaintance she had made in the cars, remembering all his kind words and nice suggestions. How earnest he was to do the Master's work! A nice old gentleman indeed.

But why? she wondered. What did all these strange proceedings mean? Just like a story in a book!

"We are having a dream, we guess, or writing a book, or else there's witches around," explained Karl. "Christie said things never happened except in books, but I guess she will change her mind after to-day. Honestly, Jim, we don't know a thing about it, and father and mother are not at home, and we know they haven't bought any furniture, just as well as we know anything."

"Well," said Jim, "you know a great deal, I'll admit, but then I know how to read writing when I see it, especially when it is print; and these things are all marked Miss Christie Tucker as plain as the nose on your face. And when I see them, I says to Bill, says I,—

"'There ain't no Christie Tucker around here except that little thing up to Jonas Tucker's?'

"'No, more there ain't,' says Bill, 'nor any other Tucker folks but them, this side of the city; you may as well pile 'em in and get them over there out of the way.'

"So here I am, and my team must be unloaded, you see; so if you will ask Miss Christie where she will have the things put, we'll be stepping about."

Then Christie sat the baby down very decidedly and came to the door.

"It is all a mistake, sir," she said earnestly; "it means some other Christie Tucker, you may be sure. I'm only a little girl, and there is nobody to send me things. If you would wait a little bit until father comes, he could tell you there was a mistake, and that would save your unloading the things, and loading them up again, for I know they will have to go away."

Jim Pierce smiled admiringly on the little woman.

"Me and father come out to this country sixteen years ago last October," he said, hitching at one suspender to bring it into place, "and we know every foot of land within thirty miles of here, and the name of every man, woman and child in this part of the country, and there ain't no Christie Tucker except yourself, and I reckon if the things ain't fur you, they don't belong to nobody. And I reckon I better unload, for that is a deceitful kind of a sunset, and I shouldn't wonder if we had a squally evening. Bill and I will jest set the things inside out of the storm, and to-morrow we can tote 'em back, if you find any place where they fit better. There ain't nothing to pay. Boss, he come to the door, jest as I drove out, and says he,—

"'Those goods are paid for, delivered at the door.'

"So delivered at the door it is. Pitch in, Bill, no time to waste."

And they "pitched in!"

Christie gathered up the baby and stood at the window in silent bewildered dismay, while Karl opened the door of the neat bare little parlour and let the muffled-up freight take possession. What to do, the little woman did not know. She had done all she could; there seemed nothing now but to wait.

"Father and mother haven't been away before in a year," she told the baby, "and I hope they won't go again for another year. Who would have thought of so many things happening in this little while! We've lived here years and years, and nothing has happened!"

"Ah, da! da!" said baby, and dived after a flake of snow that just then blew past the window. Baby did not agree with Christie; he believed this to be a wonderful world. Had it not turned white all in a minute while he was looking at it? What was a wagon or two stopping at the gate, compared with that?

"Whew!" said Karl, coming presently from the next room, bringing a gust of cold air with him.

"They're all in, Christie, and it fills the room pack full. I never saw the beat in my life! If it was Christmas now, and we believed in the Santa Claus that comes down the chimney. Or if we had a rich uncle who had been dead twenty years, to come to life like that one did in the story. It's great fun, anyhow; if every one of them has to be toted back to the depot to-morrow, I'm kind of glad they've come. It seems like business, to have teams stopping, and be directing where to put things. I wish they 'were' ours, Christie, every one of them. You can't see what a thing is, they are so muffled-up, but you can guess at some of them. I declare, it is a lark!"

"I'm real sorry to have them come," Christie said gravely. "It will just make trouble for father; and then it is lonesome to have them all go away again and not belong to us at all, as we know they don't."

"That is true," Karl said, his face growing sober, "but then, Christie, we couldn't help it. We did the only thing there was to do, so why not have all the fun there is to be got out of it?"

"We will," said Christie smiling. "We will make believe they are ours, and we have earned them, and are going to surprise father and mother with them. There is a rocking chair among them that looks as though it might be the mate to mother's, only a prettier shape."

Karl sat down on the great roll of burlap, his face grave and his eyes large with the thought that had suddenly taken possession of him.

"Christie," he said, and his voice was so full of earnestness that she turned and looked at him curiously. There were times when she did not more than half understand this stout little brother of hers. "Christie, let's truly do it; no making believe about it! I don't mean now, of course, but let's you and I earn the beautiful things to put in their room, twice as nice as any of these things are; and carpets as soft and bright as they have up at Burton's; and lamps, or—no, gas, five or six burners in every room, and silk curtains, or velvet, at the window, and—well, everything that anybody else has. I say, let's you and I earn them for father and mother. Folks do it; poor boys do it, I've read about them often! And it isn't all story either. Look at Uncle Daniel; he was a poor boy, poorer than we are, a good deal, and see how he lives? We can do it, Christie, will you?"

"Yes," said Christie bravely, her eyes twinkling with a merry light. "I'll do my very best at it, and if we like these things that have to be sent back, we'll look at them carefully and buy ours just like them. In the meantime, Karl, while we are waiting for the time to come, shall we make them some cream toast for their supper?"

Karl laughed at this, and arose and shook himself, like one who had been dreaming and wanted to get thoroughly awake.

"Yes," he said, "I suppose cream toast will have to do for to-night; and it is high time it was getting ready. I'll go to the cellar. Only, Christie, I'm going to do the other thing too; remember that."

And he went back into the little back kitchen and lighted a lamp and went whistling to the cellar.

Preparations for supper began now in earnest. The short twilight was fading, and night was setting in steadily. The travellers would soon be here. Karl and Christie agreed that the mysterious bundle should be coaxed into the front room with the other mysteries, and not a word said about them until cream toast and eggs were eaten and enjoyed.

"Because if they once get to talking, and looking, and wondering, they won't get to eating supper until the toast and eggs are spoiled; and they will be so hungry and tired. Mother will need her cup of tea to rest her." So said the young housekeeper.

"Yes; and there is no need of hurrying to tell them, for the teams have all gone back, and there can't be anything done about it until morning." So said the man of business.

Do you know anything about how bright and restful that neat kitchen looked to the cold and hungry people who presently came into its light and warmth?

The fire was glowing brightly, the tea-kettle sang its gayest tune, the table was neatly laid, stewed pears and a plate of cookies occupied places of honour, and the most delightful odour of toast, mingled with the fragrant tea; and the bowl of eggs stood waiting to be dropped at just the right moment into the boiling water.

"This is nice," Mother Tucker said, leaning back in her little rocker, and cuddling the delighted baby.

"There is nothing like it in town, Christie; we passed some nice-looking homes, and the curtains were up, and everything looked pretty inside, but father said,—

"'We don't want to stop there, do we? They haven't got our boy and girls.'"

Then did Christie, with a happy little laugh, pop in her eggs, and set the baby's chair to the table, and tie Nettie's bib about her, for she heard a stamping of feet in the kitchen, and she knew the two men had disposed of the horses, and were ready for supper.

All through the pleasant supper time, she and Karl had the hardest work to keep from going off into bubbles of laughter, and all the time their hearts sang the story: "What in the world will they say when we show them the front room?"

At last, Father Tucker said there was no use, he couldn't eat that last bit of toast, nice as it was. And Karl telegraphed to Christie, "Now begin."

And just then Mother Tucker said:

"Now, my girl, if your supper is eaten, we have a surprise for you."